The Generators Reign
by Kasyblack
Summary: I think that story ideas names etc. generators are just totally wondrous... Therefore, I present this beginning of the collection of oneshots inspired by some of them. Possibly taking place in the same universe. Rating just in case.
1. Ron Weasely and the Sword of the Chef

_**Ron Weasley and the Sword of the Chef**_

By

_**Kasyblack**_

Funny-angsty story… Where are you, my happy mood?

_**Disclaimer:**_ do not own even my imagination. It owns me instead. Though I own my poor creation which did not use in this story but torment in my malicious dreams…

_**Summary:**_ Ron is not a Weasley? And what the Hell is the _Sword of the Chef_?

"Ron - , the seriousness in his mother's voice was obvious, so for once he had stopped the chewing process and even tried to listen to her words, - you know of the family tradition of giving the family Heirlooms to family members as they turn the age of sixteen?"

"As far as I know, all of the Weasley's artifacts are given to the elder ones and none of them is your posession at the moment, right, Mum?"

Her chicks reddened, but she didn't object.

"You see, Ronny, after my brother's deaths we are the last descendants of the Prewett family and their Heirlooms..."

"Great, - he almost managed to hide a groan, - you know what, Mom? I guess I'll be happy to leave all of their wicked stuff to the twins. Every time I get near ANYTHING those brothers of yours managed to create I end up in a VERY unpleasant situation..."

He seemed to be deep in thoughts for a few moments. Then he added: "On the other hand, thanks LORD you never seemed inclined to give any of that stuff to THEM... The monthly visits to the Wicked Pair's vault are exhausting enough, but having the daily encounters with the other Wicked Pair would have been much worse..."

"That's my boy!" - She cheered, her voice sounding quite deplorable... or even grievous.

Ron shrugged, looking at his Mother with a slight suspicion forming in his eyes. "I guess there's something you're not telling me about all that stuff, right? And somehow now, after I voiced my suspicions, I've got a horrible feeling that they will be confirmed in the both most painful and unpleasant way..."

Molly mumbled something under her breath.

Ron sighed and waved his hand.

"Oh, just spit it, Mom. The stupid family secrets are usually not worth all the nerves you had spent on them nor have got ANY value to anybody at all."

"But this one does... You see, darling, you're not my son".

Ron spit the pumpkin juice he has started to drink and glared at his mother.

"Very funny, indeed! And who am I then, a Polyjuiced Malfoy Heir or what? Did the twins just come up with this stupid idea? And how did they make you participate, for that matter?.. And the April Fool's Day has yet to come, you know?.."

"I can see that you're in denial… I'm afraid that it's true, dear... I always assumed you'd suspect something… After all, you were the only one of the brothers I took to the Prewett vaults…"

"WHAT? Why? I mean, considering Percy's usual foul mood I assumed that he visited their vault at least more often than me…"

"No, dear, he's just too moody for his own good".

"Oh".

Ron did not know what more he could say. Merlin, what a petty excuse for a day it was!

"You see, eight months after my brothers were killed their friend, her name was Cornelia Falco – though I don't know whose girlfriend exactly she was, so I have no idea who your father was…"

Ron mumbled something like – "why does my mom's name have to sound almost like Conelius bloody Fudge's?.."

Molly furrowed her brows. Ron nervously gulped. Sometimes his mom was just TOO scary to withstand without flinching… or even hiding sometimes.

"Did you say something, dear? No? Hmm, guess I just started hearing things… anyway, your mom was seriously hurt and had died only telling me your birth name and that you were my brother's son... But you-know-who was hunting my brothers and would no doubt kill their spawn if he knew 'bout you just to satisfy some sick psychological issues of his" – Ron snorted, - "so I named you my child and cause I was quite…hmm… well-built… no one even noticed that I wasn't pregnant"

"At least now I know whom the twins are takin after, Mummy… Thanks God SNAPE would never come to your perch with HIS children… though maybe the awful character the twins have come from THAT source?.."

He cringed at the amount of venom in his words.

"Honey, you know, I always considered you my son as I considered Charlie, Bill and Percy…"

"Well, what about the twins?"

"They are NOT the children of Severus Snape! And I usually tend to consider them the concentrated clots of pure Chaos which accidentally got born to me after the Universe got too tired of bearing them and their atrocious behavior".

"Aha. Great. So now, when we sorted all the mess up for a little, you can shoot the defenseless little boy".

"What do you mean, dear?"

"Whatever you wanted to give me… Just do it. I'm sure that you did not want to hear me sulking for a long-long time we would waste traveling to the vault. And I have got the vague impression that these vicious presents you give me seem to amuse you just too much to wait… So, as I said before, shoot the poor defenseless boy right into his poor suffering heart".

"Oh, right, dear, if you insist…"

"Lets just get over this. I can't wait to eat the breakfast at last. If this 'gift' will leave me with anything to eat it with… And do not GLARE at me. The last one removed my teeth for two hours whenever I said 'Quidditch' for the entire month. And when I stopped talking 'bout Quidditch my friends suspected I was a Dark Wizard in disguise and alerted Dumbledore! And Veritaserum tastes like the vile shi…I mean, really, really BADLY".

"So, may I present You… THE Ultimate Weapon, named The Sword of the Chef, perfect for kitchen use and for destroying your enemies with the ROASTBIEF SPECIAL BLAST".

"Guess I can smell trouble… the most hideous ones… not that I am surprised…"

"Here, dear, try to swish it"

"Aha, and then to flick it, I guess?.. Ok, here goes the stupid movement…"

Just as Ron grabbed the Sword with the grim determination to survive whatever trouble the supposed parent and uncle had prepared for him, he felt the nagging sensation in his navel, and with the jerk to the unknown direction, he was no more in the kitchen… Or maybe this WAS a kitchen… The scary kitchen resembling the battlefield…

He heard the hoarse voice behind his back.

"And you dare calling yourselves the scullions? You damned crybabies cannot even FIND the Chef!"

_Guess that makes sense, - _Ron mused. - _I give the stupid sword to the strange man and he sends me home... - _He examined the scary complexion in front of him, - _or he'll cook me with the greatest pleasure..._ - he weighted his options once more. - _But then I will anyway be out of here. So, let's cook the omelet and break the eggs to those who oppose us… better stop THINKING and start talking cause my thoughts seem to travel into some strange, Dumbledorishly eccentric areas…_

"Erm, I'm sorry, Sir, but I got the strange birthday gift which sent me here… I do not want to interrupt your local war, so if you could just…"

"Ah, young mister Prewett… I guess you haven't received your letter jet".

"Got absolutely no idea what You are talking 'bout, sir…" – Ron guessed his chances for coming back home were REALLY lame.

"Do not worry. By your parents will and after they paid the price for your education, you are to become the student to our Hidden Royal Fencing-Cooking School. And as the wielder of the Sword of the Chef you have already got an advantage".

"And that is?"

"You've got your weapon at the first day here. And they, I mean the other students, had to fight each other to get their".

The very quiet answer stated 'God, I'm starting to miss Voldemort…'

"You know that your parents considered yourself the Knight who shall gain the power to Fence and to Cook and to destroy The Child of Total Darkness known as Voldemort".

'Guess I was wrong… I'll never be far enough to miss him…'

"The brave people even arranged you a Duel with him in two years' time.."

"WHAT?.."

_He-he, the lad believed me! Gosh, he'll be surprised that the duel is half a year earlier. Can't wait to see his face when I tell him..._ (thought the strange man)

_Who said that people had to love their parents? If I meet mine I'll STRANGLE the bastards… Though with their choice of my dueling partners I guess we'll meet too soon…_ (inwardly sweared Ron)

"But now we've got to complete the entering ceremony". Ron did not like that evil gleam in the stranger's eyes.

"How?" – was all the defeated teenager managed to ask.

"Why, with the friendly duel, of course" – answered the man as he dushed to poor boy at the surprising speed…

**A/N:** just a little srange idea which occurred in my head as soon as I read the title in the names generator. Did not have a wish to finish it completely though. Maybe someone who reads it shall be wishing and able to continue this thing. If you got such wish, just inform me where I could find it, please ))


	2. Harry Potter and the FuzzyWuzzy Visions

**Harry Potter and the Fuzzy-Wuzzy Visions**

**Disclaimer: don't own practically anything, including but not limited to Harry Potter and Hello Chthulhu.  
**

It is a big circular room, complete with a podium, screen and chairs. He counts. There are twenty six of them. The room is pretty empty, but his déjà vu senses are tingling. He'd been here before.

His memory feels sluggish, unable to form any logical ideas. But almost-memories are lurking just beneath the surface. He's been here before. He's sure. And there were several others, twenty six in total, with several probies sometimes in tow. Or at least there have to be that much.

He sits. Immediately, there is a rush of air on his right. When he turns, there is a plushy-like looking monster, its green body shimmering, its octopus-like head peers at him inquisitively.

- You are an idiot unable to control his dreams. And again you call me of all the 26 to bother.

- Who are you? – he did not just squeak like a girl. He didn't.

- And one more night is ruined. You know, there is a reason you are still the group's dunce even with Nincompoop's… absentmindedness. Because at least she-man does not call us here at the most inopportune moments. You are lucky I was not writing mind-eating books, idiot.

In his shock he still feels some recognition of the ranting manner, and strangely enough, it calms him down.

- Well, what is your problem this time? Your uncle is worshipping devil after a small mindwipe again? Your aunt had once again try to poison guests? Your cousin is hurting small animals for kicks and… enjoys the view afterwards?

- Er, I don't know, really. Who are you, anyway? How did you get here? How did I get here? Where here is?

The little plushy monster might sound incredulous. That, or too amused for his own good.

- Again? Seriously, you are a trouble magnet, Baster.

The word… no, the name makesthe haze in his mind lift. He remembers.

The child – it was so tiny, so resigned, its neck bent at the unnatural angle. It came to him in dreams, staring into his soul with its green eyes. He seriously contemplated being a hero in a horror flick. Or the fist victim, whose death never makes any sense. But the little guy was doing nothing threatening, just watching from afar. He was a patient bastard, that boy. Sometimes Baster envied that apparition. It…he was deviously sneaky. He'd waited till his stalkee's mind was in shambles – problems at work and in the uni, tension's in the family, bad breakup – all piled up in a great alcohol-induced pity fest. He'd sworn off alcohol ever since. Too late though.

The details of the night were quite hazy. There was destiny involved, he was sure. And a prophesy, the dead know good deal more than mortals not there yet, so the little bastich had known. He played Baster better than Sherlock Holmes played violin. Life for life, and new chance in the world that did not see what was coming. Yeah, and the powers… he forgot to mention unpaid slave labor though. And proving he was no zombie to hysterical Aunt Petunia. Well, at least the little guy saw his parents at last.

He had a great hate-on for the kid for a long while, even if some anonymous calls to child services from his neighbour's house got care of some problems. At least until the 26 invited him to join their numbers. At least the powers he got were as cool as they get. His, for example, was absolute self-control, which included shapeshifting and increased strength, speed, etc, not to mention an ability to somewhat warp reality on the short distance from himself.

Yeah, 26, the defenders of the Fannon Universes… Also known to some as HERB – Human Engineering Research Bureau. Quite officious sounding, if oftentimes fake. For Baster's world cluster, organization had been his doing. His unwilling talking partner had been at this for a long while, but the previous A agent organized his branch.

- You know, you seem to be a total idiot not to slip the Durskaban where nobody's looking. Or at least when Centipede is too busy.

- Ah, my dear Abomination, memory charms only make dreams of revenge that much sweeter. And lifting it away is such a rush.

It is quite possible he sneers. He really hates the Unspeakale guys, who choose to take their projects where he wanders. Or perhaps there is one of them, who keeps following and obliviating him?

It does not matter all that much, really. He'll get them – or him, as the case might be, as soon as the semi-cannon timeline tremor ends. Which is quite soon, he wagers. Was it Rookwood, the guy he vaguely remembered from the book agent Poodoo lent? Possible.

- You are such a boy scout sometimes, Baster. How's Pottery treating you?

- Fuck you very much, Abby.

- Now that is uncalled for. Agent Baby.

- Har-de-har-har. No news on when tremors end? I hate doing practically nothing.

The tremors didn't happen all that often, but when they did, chances of breaking inter-reality walls are too high to actually use their powers, meaning he had to stay at the aptly named Durskaban. Again.

- Not till your Ronnie-poo finds courage to foodfight like there is no tomorrow.

- You mean it's the Prewett thing again?

- Yeah, he'd gotten into Bad Pie Roody's newly reopened summer culinary course.

- That's the guy from that ultra-Harry thing that had Poodoo giggling for hours, right? Mr. Back? No, Minister Black? Ah, whatever. You mean we really do have a mad hardcore cook here? BWAHAHAHA!

- Yeah, yeah, you get all the fun. Laugh it up. It's not like the crazy bastards from my universe think I'm some kind of the powerful Pokemon and throw their stupid mind control balls at me…

- Poor Stallone… His age has come and gone… he-he-he…

- Why all the wackos of my worlds are suicidal nutjobs trying to catch me, not funny-from- the-sidelines torturing-my-friends-in-variety-of-non-lethal-but fun-ways?

- Hmmm, you can really feel the great "Hello Kitty" friendship vibe here. Enough for some proud tears, really.

- Go kiss a Dementor.

- I tried once. It had bad breath. Heck of a b-job though.

- Ack. Seriously, grow some competence, Bloody-freakazoid. – for a crime against nature, Abomination's quite easily flustered.

- Negotiate with more guys, Alberta.

- Have nightmares in which eyeless worms feast on your rotting stomach, while the abyss watches your struggles to remain human and not feast on your own dying innards, while your soul is being contorted into the nightmarish mockery of itself possibly in order to call the unfathomable abominations of the outer realms onto the heads of your mortal brethren, when…

With a "fwoosh", Abomination was gone. He always wants to say the last word. Harry Potter of the SI variety sighed, and was also gone. The conference room grew quiet, then lost coherency, then dissolved into the strange raibow-coloured mist. Till it was needed again.

**SI's and other OCs and fannon characters protect the fannon universes from destruction by means unspecified. **

**Pity the fannonverses are sometimes too fragile... And entirely too freaky. Especially with the probably existing Yaoi and Screw-All-y Winds, which blows character's minds out. And Brain Scrambling and Letter-and-Grammar Consuming Viruses. And little alien drones which burrow into the villains' brains, making them suddenly sexual deviants with the penchant for mind games. And poor Loki, who is unable to find redemption because he ALREADY wears Leather Pants...**

**Same universe as previous chapter.  
**


End file.
